


cum rag

by cyus (cruentum)



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Humiliation, M/M, Objectification, Watersports, bottom!Merlin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-07
Updated: 2012-08-07
Packaged: 2017-11-11 16:09:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/480360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cruentum/pseuds/cyus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur uses Merlin as his stool.</p>
            </blockquote>





	cum rag

**Author's Note:**

> written for [this prompt on the kinkmeme](http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/32238.html?thread=32705262#t32705262) originally

The draft curls into every nook and cranny of the castle in winter, sliding just across the stone floors and under the wooden doors, through the gaps between the hinges. They've got fires burning in most rooms to combat the cold, but after a day of mostly standing still, watching people bow to him and ask counsel, seek reparations or simply pay respect Arthur's left to rolling his shoulders to get the blood moving through his body again. 

Leon stands to the right of him rockstill, trusted as his advisor-at-war and they've been squabbling on and off with the scoundrel down south for the better of two years now. Leon nevers wavers, never gives in to cussing out the bloody cold and winter being the bane of their lives, as Arthru seeks to distribute food according to needs rather than production, saving the young and frail while leaving the healthy and strong on a leaner diet. 

Once he has closed proceedings on the day, sat down to draft the schedule of events for the next day and attended to affairs concerning the castle and court only, Arthur marches down the long corridors back to his own rooms.

They're freezing when he steps in and pushed the heavy door open, nodding to the guards in attendance. There's no fire lit in his private rooms. It wouldn't do to be seen wasteful of resources when he'd spent no time here scarce an hour before and after sleep every day. The thick curtains had not been opened since the morning, allowing not even a hint of warming sun inside, rendering the room solid cold. 

Arthur crosses the room with heavy step and when he lights candles for light in the far corners of the room, he watches his breath fog and scratches at the sheet of thin ice on the window.

Arthur shrugs out of his regalia and heavy wands, surveying the room as he does. The knock at the door comes a moment later and he calls it open. 

"Your tea, your highness?" One of the serving girls curtsies, just inside the doorway. 

"Put it on the stool, thank you," Arthur says off-hand. 

The girl does as she's bid, careful to place the mug in the small of the stool's back.

"Careful." Arthur chuckles when the stool's elbows buckle a little, scalding hot tea splashing over ice-cold skin, the hot cup flaring up a ring of hot-red skin around its bottom. 

The girl leaves with another curtsy and a blushing smile when Arthur winks at her and tells her well-done, and Arthur is alone in his rooms. A n hour of reading maybe until he'd make for bed.

Arthur sits in his chair, the air too cold to pull off his boots or strip anymore than he already has and picks the mug off the stool's back as he settles. He traces the red circle indentation the mug left on the skin, scratches a bit at it and hopes it won't leave a permanent mark, but then he leans back, one leg stretched and resting on the swell of the arse, his other boot resting along the stool's shoulder, toes digging in just under the stool's ear, smearing grime over those pretty cheekbones.

He's torn between reading a little more about strategies and tactics - truth be told, he knows Leon is far more well-read on any of that than he is and he trusts Leon's counsel - and just taking the bit of time before bed to lose himself in his thoughts, tea in his lap.

"It's a horrid winter," Arthur says out loud, watching the breath fog from his stool's lips, its eyes closed until Arthur drags the side of his boots over the lids to make it open them.

It does and they are a show of watery blue, spilling down its cheeks with the shakes of its body, and Arthur absently wonders how long he'd have to leave it outside until they'd turn to ice as soon as they fall. 

"I shall take you to meeting of the grand circle up on the hills in a fortnight." Arthur drags his boot down the curve of the stool's ribs and digs his toes into the soft flesh of its stomach just underneath, delighting in watching the arms buckle. 

"Two days ride, I'm sure we could drag you after one of the horses. The snow should keep you largely unmarred. I wonder if they have snow through the pass or if it's just the rocks and gravel down where the snow can't get. Either way, you'd serve me well up on the hill top as I stand on you to survey the land."

The stool's shoulders shake. Arthur sips a little more from the tea, relishing the warmth as he shifts his boot lower and presses it up against shrivelled cock and balls, first pressing then kicking up against the soft package until the stool's arms buckled and it crashed to its elbows, only straightening up when Arthur ground his heel into its thigh.

"Better," Arthur says. The tea goes lukewarm in his quiet contemplations of the day, idly tapping his heel between the stool's shoulderblades as he considers the best way to proceed with the rationing of their reserves and how to most effectively render their fields rich in goods come spring and summer. 

"Ah it's another day for it tomorrow, isn't it?" he says as he stands, contemplating the stool, then umpending the last of the lukewarm tea over its head. The liquid dripped down its neck and ran through its hair to its face, collecting in its lashes before slipping off its nose to the floor below. 

"Clean it up," Arthur says, absently, as he moves off to slip off his boots and remove his clothes for sleep. The gagging and slurping behind him tells him the stool does as its bid, and when he turns to watch, tongue and lips slide along the floor like they're made for it.

"Hm." Arthur moves across to crouch in front of it, naked now, half over it, its head between Arthur's feet, the back of it brushing up against Arthur's balls and cock. "Go on," Arthur says, until it slurps around Arthur's feet, trying to get at the tea underneath and eventually across his toes, tongue digging between them to do as it had been told. 

"It'll keep you for tomorrow. It must get cold here, doesn't it, without the fire?" Arthur chuckles, tickled a little by the tongue and lips laving at his feet. "I'll have the floors spotless when I return tomorrow night, I want your mouth to have touched every last spot on it and washed it to my satisfaction."

The stool-cum-rag shudders underneath Arthur.

"It's in need of a good wash, too, isn't it?" Arthur says and grabs his cock, waits a moment and as a trickle starts from the tip of it then does his evening ablutions over the head of the rag, letting his piss puddle around its mouth conveniently on the floor already and stretches up to step away just before he stands in his own urine. That really wouldn't do.

"I've no complaints if you're happy to start while it's still warm." Arthur says and walks to the bed to pull on his nightclothes, watching the rag on the floor, lapping at the puddle of piss with its face and hair wet, its eyes open and blinking away the sting of the urine but so obedient to let him see the blue of its eyes through the haze of tears.

Arthur blows out the candles and crawls into bed, his body warming the sheets soon enough enough in the utter darkness of the room. The rag sniffles for a while longer, slurps across the floor as it's meant to. Arthur is hard with it, hard with getting to do this and someone doing it for him.

"Have a wash, Merlin," Arthur says eventually and listens to the quiet shuffle in the dead of the night, the splash of water, the rough sounds of a towel.

He lifts his blanket and Merlin slips in, shivering, curling immediately against Arthur's front, face burying into Arthur's shoulder, legs pulled up to his chest. Arthur wraps his arms around him and holds him through the tears, the release of tension, the way Merlin presses his cock against Arthur's hip and humps himself to release, come rubbing slick between them. 

"I still want the floor cleaned tomorrow. Like I said," Arthur says, lips and nose buried in Merlin's hair, cradling him in his arms.

"Yes," Merlin just says, twitching against Arthur with arousal. 

Arthur smiles.


End file.
